Deeper Than Life
by LSMunch
Summary: He smiles politely back at you, you stare politely right on through. Some sort of window to your right as he goes left and you stay right betyween the lines of fear and blame as you begin to wonder why you came.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. And the summary is from The Fray's How to Save a Life.

A/N: Thoguht of this while singing How to Save a Life to myself. Little weird, I know, but that's how it wrote itself. If it's too confusing to follow at all, tell me, I'll try to explain it.

You're being interrogated. In your own interrogation room. By rats in suits. It's a dream, no, a nightmare. You are a little boy again, with rats, bigger than you are, bearing down on you, their pointy noses and beady eyes threatening you, chasing you, cornering you. This time, instead of tag teaming you, only one is in the room with you. The bigger one. You don't have a chance; it must be three times your size. And you're tired, so tired. Your bones are jelly, your muscles rubber. Why won't they let you sleep? You're sure the rats must have gotten your friend already, back in the alley, they came up from the sewer and shot him.

Wait. No. The rats didn't shoot your friend. You shot your friend.

No. That wasn't it either. The man you were chasing shot him.

Yes, that's it. The man you were chasing shot him. But why is the rat in a suit here? What's he asking?

"Look, Detective, you and your partner were chasing Shevlin. He turned a corner and when your partner continued around the corner, Shevlin shot him. Then what did you do?"  
"I shot Shevlin." You're talking to the rat now. Why are you doing that? You know. The rat is controlling you with his eyes. All you have to do is look away. Look away. Look away.

"Did he aim his weapon at you?"

Look away. Don't talk. He'll kill you if you say the wrong thing. Run away. Run back down that alley, in reverse. Maybe you'll get your friend back. Stop him from turning that corner. Make him wait.

"Detective Munch, did he aim his weapon at you?"

Keep running. Look, a window, on your right. Maybe you can break it. Gun in hand, elbow first. It shatters, raining glass down on your tired, thirsty body. Can't stop now. Keep running, down that hallway.

"I'll understand if Shevlin pointed his weapon at you, that's what you're trained to do. Shoot. But I can't help you if you shot him in revenge."

The rat is chasing you. Quick, turn the corner. Don't talk. Don't say a word, don't even scream for help. Then more rats will come and you'll never make it out alive. You'll be dead before you hit the ground. Bam. Dead. Just like that. Before you can blink, you'll be dead. A light bulb smashed on the ground, glass littering the pavement and the light never to be on again.

"Your partner goes down, it's scary. He's your other half, functioning without him is like breathing in water. I'll understand if you shot Shevlin to even out the score, but I won't be able to help you. You took a man's life without a second thought. That's a split second decision made in the heat of the moment. There's no time to check and balance yourself before you pull that trigger. I need to know if he aimed his weapon at you, Detective."

Don't listen to him. He's trying to trick you. Lead you to the left, where more rats are waiting to feast on you. Keep right. Don't stray. Right. Right. Right.

"I have all day, Detective. I'm sure you'd like to see Detective Tutuola, but I can't let you do that until I get your statement, and I can't get your statement unless you to talk to me."

It's a trap. No, don't go there. That's the left, where you are is the right. Keep right. You'll be fine if you keep right.

Look, up ahead, there's Shevlin, running toward you. Behind him is your friend and then you. Shevlin turns left, your right. Turn right, now. Stop him. Jump on him. Get his gun. Disarm him, like they taught you all those years ago in the Academy. That's right. You've got him now. Your friend stops running and the other you catches up as both stare down at you. They're trying to figure out what in the hell is going on. Maybe they don't know you're on their side. You reach to your side for your handcuffs, but they're not there. Where are they? You look up at the other you, eyes pleading, words stuck in your throat. Understanding, he kneels down and snaps his own handcuffs over Shevlin's wrists and you both get up, dragging Shevlin with you. You hand Shevlin to your friend and he looks at the both of you, every shade of confusion painted on his face.

You look behind you, to where the rat is gaining. The other you follows your gaze and then looks back at you, into you. He nods and you smile a bit before running to your right, down the alley. Looking up to the buildings on either side of you, the ones on the left say 'fear' and those on the right say 'blame' in large, blazing letters, glaring down at you, making your legs pump faster. You hear a gunshot as the other you fires his weapon and the rat falls, an unearthly screech tearing through the rat's vocal cords, ripping them to shreds as the sound meets your ears, making you clasp your hands over your ears. You stumble and then fall to your knees as the screeching continues for what seems like an eternity. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

"He aimed his weapon at me after shooting my partner. I did what I was taught. I shot him. I did not do it in revenge." The alley begins to fade from your mind. The glaring buildings are falling behind you. But still, it's dark and damp and you want to be warm and in the light badly. So badly. So strongly. Keep running. Don't stop.

"Detective Munch, are you sure?"

"He aimed his weapon at me after shooting my partner. I shot him. I did not do it in revenge." If he asks you again, you'll repeat it again. You're tired. Home sounds good right about now. And bed. Oh, that sounds the best. Keep running. You can almost see it. Almost.

"All right. I'll be back in a minute. Don't move."

The rat is gone. It's warmer. There's light all around and look, there's Olivia. And Elliot. Captain. Casey. Olivia walks up to you, jogs actually, and you wonder how anyone could run when all your legs want to do is collapse beneath you.

"Where is he?" you're asking. You don't remember getting here, but you sure as hell remember why you're here.

"He's in surgery. They don't know if he's going to make it. I'm sorry, John."

You feel yourself slipping into that childhood dream again, the nightmare. Looking around, you feel as if you don't know anyone, even though you've worked with them for... how long? Oh, God, don't let me fall back in. Don't let me. Please. I'll do anything. Please, don't let me fall.

"Why don't you sit down, John." She guides me over to a chair. "Here you go."

"I wanted to be here. When they brought him in. But the rats came and got me. They made me tell them what happened. I didn't want to. They tried to trick me. Why did they do that?"

Dimly, I notice Captain and Elliot and Casey walking away, leaving me and Olivia alone. Just as dimly, I hear a little voice telling me to shut the hell up, she doesn't know what I'm talking about, how could she possibly explain it all to me? I can't even explain it to myself.

"It's the rat squad, John. You know how they work. Lock you in a little room and make you tell them what you did. They just wanted your statement so they could convince themselves it was a good shooting."

I lean back in the chair, my head against the wall where many other heads have rested, trying to catch a nap before the inevitable. "When he was talking to me... I had the weirdest dream. I was awake, but I could picture the whole thing as if it were a movie. I felt like a little kid again, and I was having a nightmare. A huge rat was chasing me down these alleys and dim streets. He kept trying to make me go left, but I kept telling myself to go right and not to yell or talk because then he'd get me. And then I saw Shevlin running towards me, and behind him was Fin, and then me. But there was two of me. One running away from the rat and towards Shevlin, and then the other one, running after Shevlin and Fin.

"And I knew, I knew that Shevlin was going to turn the corner and shoot Fin, so I ran faster and tackled him. I got him down good and then Fin ran up, and the other me caught up with him. They stared at me like I was an alien. I tried to cuff Shevlin, but I didn't have any handcuffs. The other me knelt down and cuffed Shevlin and we got him to stand and then Fin took him. It seemed like then the other me understood the me that was being chased by the rat. I ran to the right and heard a gunshot and then the rat screamed, this awful sound as it died. And then I was coming back and finally, in real life, I told them what had happened. And he left, and I was alone and it felt like then I was really awake. Like it had all been a dream, but I don't think it was. It felt so real."

Olivia isn't really one of those women that hugs her friends whenever she sees them, nor does she hug us at special occasions or anything. Only rarely will she hug us. But sitting there, in that horrible waiting room, at some unspoken hour of the night, with me scared shitless and feeling like a child, she leaned over and pulled me into an embrace. And not a quick, 'hey, how are you thing', the kind of embrace mothers give their children after nightmares. Exactly like that. I let her, too. I let her pull my shoulders and let my head rest in the crook of her neck and let her stroke my hair and let her rub my back. I let her hold me.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I tried to ignore the muse, but he would not be silenced, so you guys get another chapter. Despite reassurances that this will not take away from the first chapter, I'm still a little worried, so I hope it doesn't and that my friends are right, and most of all, that you enjoy this.

We stayed in that position for a long time, me resting against her, slowly returning to some level of normalcy, far above my previous state, yet still quite below how I usually was. Neither of us fell asleep, but I don't remember Elliot or Captain or Casey ever coming by, and even if they had, I don't think they would have questioned us on what had happened after they left. I don't think they'll ever ask; it will be between me and Olivia until we die. When the doctor finally came, Olivia stroked my hair once before we got up, slowly, to meet him. I could tell from his face that he was tired, but other than that, I couldn't read his expression, which was probably better for if I could, that would either crush me prematurely, or unnecessarily, or lift my spirits only to be stamped back down.

"We've moved him to intensive care. The bullet punctured a lung, which collapsed, and grazed an artery coming from the heart." I swallowed hard, mostly air and an odd taste that was suddenly filling my mouth. "We removed the bullet and patched him up as best we could, but he's going to be with us for some time."

"When can we see him?" Olivia asked, putting voice to the very question that had been floating through my mind since the doctor said Fin was in ICU.

"You can see him now, but only for a few minutes."

"Thank you, doctor." I nodded, afraid the words would catch in my throat.

He nodded too, solemnly. "Don't thank me quite yet. There's still a chance he might not make it. He's stable for now, but there's always that chance. I wouldn't worry too much, but I am warning you."

"But it's that much longer we have with him. Thank you," she repeated. I could have hugged her. The doctor nodded again and walked away. As if they had some sort of sixth sense, Captain, Elliot and Casey came around the corner.

"He okay?" Elliot asked at once, noticing the doctor entering a room.

"He's in ICU. We can see him, but only for a few minutes," Olivia informed them all. If it had been just me there, I don't think I would have been able to tell them anything, my throat was so dry. Although it was getting somewhat better as I slowly drank in the relief that Fin was going to make it.

"John, why don't you and Olivia go first," Captain said softly. I nodded and Olivia put her hand on my shoulder, then slowly started rubbing my back as we walked down the hallway, away from them.

"He's gonna be fine, John. And I bet just your presence will spur him on to get better sooner, if only to yell at you." She smiled. God, she's so beautiful when she smiles. "Before you know it, he'll be back sitting across from you, and you'll be bickering over one thing or another." We had reached the intensive care unit. Walking up to a nurse, she asked, "The doctor downstairs said we could see Odafin Tutuola for a few minutes."

She looked me up and down for a second. I'd forgotten that I still was wearing the shirt and pants I'd been wearing when Fin got shot. There was blood spattered over both, and dirt covering a large part of my pants. I must have looked as if I'd stepped out of some action movie. "Last room on your right," she said and pointed down the hall, as if we didn't know which way to go.

"Thanks." We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we got to the room, I stopped. She looked at me questioningly, but my legs wouldn't move. I was running down the alley again, with that huge rat chasing me. And there was Shevlin, and Fin and the other me. I couldn't run faster; it was if I was running through knee-deep mud. I struggled against it, reaching out my hands for anything to hold, but the walls seemed to get farther away. The rat was gaining, the mud not affecting him at all. I heard someone call my name, but it was a bodiless voice. It got harder and harder to move and I watched as Shevlin rounded the corner and Fin followed. I tried to call out, but felt the mud fill my mouth. _No,_ I thought frantically. _No, no, no! _I felt tears burning my face, running paths through the mud on my face. I watched, helpless, as Fin rounded the corner and Shevlin shot him and he fell. I heard the other me call out his name as I ran faster than I ever remember myself running as I rounded the corner as well, shooting Shevlin as he aimed his weapon at me. The rat was nearly on me, and still I watched as the other me fell to the ground next to Fin, trying to stop the bleeding, calling for a bus. I heard my name called again, and started shaking.

"John, John." More shaking. "John, it's all right. Calm down, it's all right." Olivia came back into focus, along with the rest of the hallway. "Hey, it's okay." Reaching up a hand, she used her thumb to brush something off my face. Reaching my own hand up, I felt wetness on my cheeks. The red rushed to my face. "No, it's okay. Don't be ashamed. C'mon, John." She took my hand and guided me into Fin's room, my legs finally working. Working so well, I almost turned and ran out of the room at the sight of my partner hooked up to machines and bandages wrapped all around his torso. A ventilator was hooked up to his nose and various things coming out of his arm and a couple fingers.

Olivia held on to me though, one hand gripping my arm, the other rubbing my back again. "They did such a good job. Those clean bandages. He'll be back in no time." I walked forward a couple steps and felt her hands fall from my arm and back. I walked up to his side, looking down at him.

"Fin," I murmured, tears stinging my eyes again. "Oh, God, Fin." I put my hands on the rail of his bed to steady myself. "What did we do?" Olivia walked up next to me, one hand covering mine on the rail, the other taking Fin's hand. We stood like that for a minute, the three of us connected.

Then, Olivia looked up at me, took my hand in hers fully and guided me back out of the room. Captain, Elliot and Casey were waiting further down the hallway, next to the nurse's station. Ignoring them, and the fact that they might see us, rather me, I turned to Olivia and hugged her, my arms wrapping around her, engulfing her completely. "Thank you," I whispered. All she did was hug me back as I left a kiss on her cheek and then we parted.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So, I told a few reviewers that this wouldn't get another chapter unless I had some serious inspiration and was able to carry the surrealism along with the idea. And today, the inspiration came, bringing a dose of surrealism, so here you go.

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I was sitting opposite Huang, a place I never particularly enjoyed being, but under the circumstances... it wasn't as if I had a choice. You shoot someone, you see the shrink. End of story. Coupled with Fin getting shot- _no,_ I told myself, _not there. Not down that alley again._ I tried pushing it from my mind as Huang studied me, feeling like an amoeba under a microscope.

"How's Fin doing?" he started and I wished he would start with something different.

"Good." That was the only reply he was going to get on that front.

He nodded. "How are you doing?"

"Good." I didn't want to be here. I almost rather be running down that alley again.

"Sleeping all right?"

"I sleep fine."

"Detective... John... this is for your benefit. It would be easier if you gave me truthful answers." He stressed the word 'truthful'.

"No one tells the truth these days."

"I'd appreciate if you would, just for the time being."

He wasn't getting an answer out of me. He'd have to torture me to get an answer out of me.

"What were you thinking when you shot Shevlin?"

"I don't remember." It was partly true. All I could remember, the one time I had tried deliberately to remember, was a large rat chasing me, bearing down on me as I desperately tried to escape. I remembered being scared, and maybe angry, but what I was actually thinking I hadn't a clue.

"Were you angry that Shevlin had shot Fin?" he prompted.

I could sense myself tensing, my mind slowly shutting down anything that might let an answer slip by. "Anyone would be." It was true, yet general enough to evade scrutiny.

"How about scared. Were you scared?"

Don't answer. He'll find out. Adrenaline was beginning to pump through my blood, making my thoughts frantic, and I felt jittery. Don't answer! But I had to, if I didn't... he'd know something was up. _Don't answer!_ "Yes."

"Of what?"

What do you think, stupid? I was chasing a man with a gun. A gun that had just injured my partner. That was about to injure, or kill, me. Quick, aim and fire. Hell, just fire. Three shots; one of them has to hit Shevlin. Three shots. Three chances. I don't remember how many hit him. All I care is that he's dead. "The gun." I was starting to give answers that a child would. A frightened child.

"Were you afraid that he might shoot you?"

The questions were already tedious and I clenched my jaw. Where to run... where to go? Need to get out. Get away. Run away. Fin's safe. He's safe now. But I'm not. This is hell. There has to be a trapdoor, a secret passage, anything. I need to get out. Where'd the door go? Don't answer. _Don't answer._ "No." Why do I keep answering his questions? I shouldn't answer them. Don't. Answer. Simple. I can do it.

"Then why were you afraid of his gun?"

No windows either. Where'd it all go? God, help me, please. Wait, what's that? That thing, on the floor there. Step on it. Whoa! Where am I now? No. No, no, no... no no no. Not here. Not again. I don't want to do it again. Please, please no. I'll do anything, I just won't talk and I won't do this again. Not again. I can't. If I do... I think I'll die. Please...

"Detective?"

Oh, God, the ground. It's covered in blood. I'm wading through it. No! I try to run, but it comes in waves, staining my clothes, drenching me. Where's the other me? I search frantically around. No one in sight. Keep going. You have to find him. It's this corner, isn't it? Yes, yes this is it. There's no gun at my hip. I don't care. Just keep going. Round the corner. Fin! He's... no, he can't be. Fin, no, no. No! "It killed Fin." He can't be dead. If he's dead... nothing's right. Everything's gone wrong. Everything. What am I supposed to do?

"Fin's alive, John. He's in the hospital."

He is? But... right in front of me. He's dead. No pulse. Cold. Dead.

"You saw him before you came here, didn't you? You talked to him. What'd you talk about?"

He can't talk, he's dead. He'll never talk again. I'm alone in this ocean of blood. Everyone's dead but me. God, please, if ever there's been a time I've doubted You or Your presence, I'm sorry. God, please, help me. Please, God. I need you. Help me. Please.

"John, are you all right?"

No, I'm not. I've never been all right. And lately... lately I mind as well be dead. No, I'm not all right.

"John?"

I know that voice. That's not Huang. Who is that?

"John, it's okay. It's all right now."

I can't see her but I'm holding her. And she's holding me. She's holding me and suddenly, the ocean is gone. No more blood.

"Shh, it's okay."

I can see the other me now, crouching over Fin. Okay. It's okay.

"C'mon, John. I'm right here. C'mon. It's okay."

The alley is fading away. I can see Huang now. He's not happy. Look, there she is. It's okay. She's here. The door. It came back. And the windows. They're back, too. Oh, God, thank you. She feels so good. Warm and alive. Thank you. Thank you. It is okay. It is okay.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." There's a tissue in her hand, and she's gently wiping at my face with it. I wonder how she knew to come. She gets another tissue. This time, she hands it to me. "Blow your nose," she instructs. I do. She throws away the used tissues and grabs another and wipes my face gently again. "Did the rats come back, John? Did they?" I shook my head. "What was it then?" I couldn't talk. My mouth was filled with cotton that had been doused in something that tasted horrible. "It's okay. You can tell me later." She grabbed another tissue and I found myself wondering why she was wiping my face with them. I grabbed her hand, stopping it before it touched my face. Then I brought my other hand up to touch my face. It was wet. I had been crying. Again. Oh, God... "No, no, John, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here." She crumpled the tissue in her hand and put her arms around me and the tears came harder. I couldn't stop. _What's wrong with me?_

"Shh... shh..." She stroked my hair and kept saying "shh" until I had calmed down.

I finally found my voice and used it to ask, "What's wrong with me?" The only words in my head at the moment and even they came out choked and brittle.

One of her hands was on my cheek, her fingers just touching my hair. The other hand was still stroking my hair. "Nothing's wrong with you, John."

"Then why... why do I keep doing this?" It didn't occur to me at the time that 'this' was a very vague and relative term.

Apparently, she understood me perfectly though because she said, "You watched your partner get shot. You then shot the man who'd done it, killing him. You held your partner and tried to stop the bleeding. His blood was on your hands. Then, before you could even see him, IAB talked to you. It was so much... it is so much for a man to handle. For anyone to handle. I'm sure Huang can explain the psychiatry of it better than me."

I'd forgotten about him. Where is he? I don't see him. "I wanna see Fin," I said suddenly.

She smiled a bit. Sadly, almost. "Sure. Let's get you cleaned up and I'll take you to the hospital to see him."

I realized that the whole squad, the whole precinct, lay between me and the bathroom. She sensed this.

"It's okay. They understand. Just walk by them like you would any other day. Okay? I'll be right there with you." I looked at her, and when she rose from her kneeling position, I followed and stood from my chair. Her hand was on my back, the other grasping my arm lightly. "You're strong, I know you are. C'mon."

I let her lead me to the men's room. Let her help me wash my face. Let her talk to Huang and Cragen briefly. Let her take me to the hospital. I let her lead me.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Another unexpected chapter. Seems like this thing is going on longer than expected. shrug They say surprise is good for life so...

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A week had passed, and I'd since visited Huang twice more, this time without flipping out on him. The rest of my days were spent between the hospital visiting Fin, or at home, trying to find something to do. I had read more books in the past seven days than I had in the past two months. The television was constantly on, whether I was watching it or not. It became a sort of shield between me and the flashbacks that still plagued me, though more at night, while I was trying to fall asleep. Anytime I found myself thinking about Fin or that night, I'd start listening to the TV, trying to immerse myself in the story. There were things I couldn't watch anymore, as I found out a number of times. Any cop shows were out of the question, along with any crime dramas. I didn't normally watch them to begin with, but now they were strictly off limits. Even the news, which I watched with a passion bordering on obsession, sometimes triggered the memory, or others, equally as bad.

After the initial shock that first night of seeing Fin bandaged with tubes and such sticking out, I had grown somewhat accustomed to it, though it always took a few minutes to get over it when I first walked in the room. I'd normally take his hand in mine and feel his pulse, and if he was awake, he'd smile and sometimes squeeze my hand. I hadn't told him about the flashbacks, about Olivia, about Huang, none of it. Talking was out of the question for him, so they'd given him a white board so he could still communicate with us. A couple days after being in ICU, he asked me what had happened after he went down. I could tell by the look on his face and the shakiness of his handwriting that he had tried to remember about as many times I had tried to forget, with about the same results.

"I shot Shevlin and I called a bus," had been my simple answer, and thankfully, he didn't press for more information. I don't think I could have given him much of an answer.

Whenever Olivia could get some time, she'd stop by the hospital and visit with Fin. On such occasions, it was usually lunch time, so we'd go get lunch and bring it back up to his room. She also dropped by my apartment a few nights, the television on the whole time. She never asked why it was on, but I think she knew. Elliot and Captain stopped by the hospital a couple times, Casey once. A few of Fin's buddies from Narcotics stopped by as well and some of the others from the 1-6. His son stopped by, too.

Last night, I dozed off in front of the TV, reading a book. I was so exhausted from lack of sleep that I just couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. I woke up seeing blood everywhere. It'd happened before, but it had been easier to deal with it then. It wasn't my partner's blood then.

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"John!" I heard pounding, but couldn't get myself up. "John!" Didn't I give her a key? I don't know. I thought I did. I can't let her in unless she has the key. If I move... I can't move.

"John?" She was inside now, the door closed behind her. Everything was dark. I imagined her flipping the switch as she called again, "John, it's me, Olivia. Where are you?"

I couldn't answer. Answer and die. That was what I was thinking. Just, please, find me.

"John?" I heard her put something on the table and I heard the sound of a gun being pulled from its holster. "John, where are you?"

Stay still. Don't move. Don't answer. She's there, God, she's right there. If I only stood up, she would see me. I imagined her trying the light switch in the kitchen, only to find that one out, too.

"John, everything's okay. I'm right here. Just call out. I need to know where you are."

Yes, please, find me. Please. I just... I can't... find me. If you don't... if you don't I'll die. Please. I listened to her footsteps, hoping they would bring her closer to me.

"It's me, John. It's Olivia. Everything's okay. Where are you?" Her voice was calm, for the most part. There was an underlying fear in it, one that said she thought I was dead. But I couldn't bring myself to answer. There was blood in my mouth. Real blood, this time, I could taste the metallic liquid on my tongue. Why was blood there?

"Everything's okay, John. Nothing can hurt you. I need you to tell me where you are. I promise, nothing can hurt you. I'm here. Right here."

You're lying. Everything can hurt me. Right now, something is squeezing my heart, telling me everything is pain. Maybe that's why the blood is in my mouth. Oh, God, I asked you, please, not again. I don't like the alley. There's blood and death in the alley. I don't want to be here. Please, take me back home. I wanna be home.

"Please, John, tell me where you are." Despite trying her hardest to remain calm, the fear was growing. I wanted to call out, or better yet, get up and walk to where she was standing next to my bed. She came closer and I prayed, really prayed that she would find me. I needed to be found. If I didn't... I don't want to think about it. I can't think about. Don't think about it, John.

Her hand was on the doorknob, I heard a ring clink against it. I held my breath. If I made any movement to let her know I was here I'd die. I listened as she turned the knob. I urged her on, chanting in my head. The door was opening, I could see her foot. The door banged against the shelving unit behind it. The gun in her hand was slack, she didn't really expect to need it, it was just cop instinct. "Oh, John."

I still couldn't move.

"John, it's okay now. Tell me what happened." Her voice was so soft. I couldn't resist any longer.

"The blood was everywhere and... something... something was squeezing my heart. The lights... they were too bright and I had to unplug them all. The television was too loud, so I unplugged that, too. I couldn't... the blood... I came in here. I was scared. I was going to die. All alone. I didn't think you would come. I heard you... I couldn't talk. I couldn't move. If I did... I'd die. I was scared. All alone. I was scared." I kept repeating myself.

She looked at me through the darkness between us. "John, I will always come. Always."

And I believed her. Lord, did I believe her. It allowed me to relax, my legs unbending, me neck releasing its tight grip and my head fell back, hitting the wall with a thud. I could tell she wanted to be closer to me, hold me, but there was no room left for her in the closet. So she inched her way as far in as she could and took my hand in hers. This time, there were no tears, only sheer relief at being saved. I let her know by squeezing her hand, just as Fin squeezed mine when I visited him. A small smile crept onto her face. I wanted to hold her, too, I realized in that moment. I released her hand and somehow managed to get out of the closet and then I leaned on the open door, which was resting against the shelves. She changed position as well and wrapped her arms around me as best she could. I closed my eyes and held her back.


	5. Chapter 5

"How've you been doing?" he asked, awkwardly standing there, playing with the keys in his pocket.

I nodded. "Good."

"That's good, that's good." He repeated himself out of nerves and I wondered why he was acting so nervous. He'd known me for eight years, nearly a decade. Must be news, I decided and braced myself for the worst. Captain is not one to be nervous, that much I've learned. He's a strong man, a good leader, great captain. Perfect captain. Like Gee.

"Something wrong, Captain?" I finally asked, unable to bear the suspense any longer.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said too quickly, then slowed himself. "Can I sit down?"

"Sure, make yourself at home." Having Captain at my apartment wasn't all that strange, he'd visited before and I'd had the whole squad over a couple times for drinks and to catch some sort of game on TV. He made his way for the recliner, leaving me the couch. "You want somethin' to drink or anything?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

_And I'm Shirley Temple_, I thought sarcastically. "Look, Captain, if something's wrong, tell me."

"The Department is thinking about asking you to retire and take your pension."

I looked at him. I had been wondering when the Brass would come calling for me, sending me out to pasture. There was one thing about being a cop, they always needed bodies and as long as you were pretty healthy, could run if need be, and had a clean record, you were allowed a nice career that might screw up the rest of your life but at least you had a steady paycheck. They only tossed you out when you got old, like me, or went crazy, as it seemed I was also fast becoming. "Am I gonna get anything special, or just a pat on the back and a check every now and then?"

"I've put you in for commendations and urged them that you should be given something extra. I'va asked a buddy of mine to grease the wheels a bit if need be when it comes to that."

"So, the Department's willing to lose two cops to one shooting, from the same unit. Two good, decorated cops. Whatever they're smoking, I want some," I said, only half joking.

Captain looked at me, "Look, John, I don't like it anymore than you do. Couple of my best detectives ripped from me, leaving me scrambling on my ass. Thing is, they don't wanna be responsible if anything happens when you're on the Job. This way they can send you off and forget about you. As for Fin, he's just not going to be up to it, and definitely not like he was when he came in. He'd done his twenty and a few more, and they got you after you were down in Baltimore for thirty-odd years. Time to break in some new bodies and dust off the old."

I nodded. That was always the way. Standing up, I said, "Sure you don't want a drink?"

He held up his hand. "I'm fine." Standing up himself, "I just wanted to let you know what's going on when the Department sends a couple guys here with some forms to sign. I owe you that much."

"You don't owe me anything, Don. I owe you, if you think about it."

He smiled. "So, whaddaya gonna do now? Join another department?" he joked.

"Nah, this time I'll stay in retirement. Might just learn to like it."

He reached his hand out and I took it, shaking it before pulling him into an embrace, patting his back as he patted mine. "Thanks, Cap," I said quietly and when we released each other, he looked at me sadly before letting himself out. I sighed and turned to the kitchen, looking through the sudden appearance of tears at the now sparkling light. So, this was it. This was the end. The long awaited, highly anticipated, somewhat feared end of it all. They hadn't come with the papers yet, but I was as good as gone. I wasn't a cop anymore, not really. Sure, I still had the instincts, would never lose the friends, got to keep the t-shirt, but it was over. I wiped my eyes and went to pour myself a drink.

As I laid in bed that night, radio on to banish the silence, I started running down the alley again. I tried to concentrate on the radio, tried to integrate the song, or the commercial, I couldn't tell what it was, with what I was seeing in my head, trying to diffuse it, make it go away. But it wouldn't. I couldn't see Fin, but I could hear labored breathing as if someone was running behind me. I couldn't see Shevlin either. But it was the alley, it was definitely the alley. I half expected the rat to jump out, the first flashback that happened only hours after Fin was shot still being first and foremost in my mind. I needn't have worried, as I could see no one, not a thing but the alley. I could hear well though, the sound of heavy breathing pounding with the blood in my ears. I couldn't turn my head to look back, I tried, I tried and couldn't. I don't know why. Why?

The gun was hard and cold in my sweaty hand. I was afraid I would lose it if it slipped from my hand. I held on tighter. The breathing was louder. Right in my ear. What was it? Who was it?

My body tensed, coiled, ready to jump. To where I don't know. Just... ready. My legs were tired, so tired. I couldn't stop. They kept going regardless of what I did. I tried looking back again, still couldn't. I saw a flicker of movement to my right and when my eyes shot in that direction, I found only my scared, running shadow. I looked up again to find the corner coming up. The corner where Fin got shot. But there was no Shevlin, no Fin, running ahead of me. Where we they? Why was I alone?

My feet turned my body around the corner and I heard the shot ring and looked frantically around. No one. I felt the bullet hit and fell flat on my face, but somehow I rolled over. This wasn't how it happened. This wasn't how it happened. Fin gets shot. Where is he? Is... is that him? I can't see. Everything's blurry. My glasses... where are they? I try to lift my hands but they're glued to the pavement. God, it hurts.

He leans over me, tears streaming down his face and into that weird little beard I've never understood. His mouth is moving but I can't hear anything. I try to talk myself but can't hear anything. Maybe I'm not even making any sounds. He's holding my chest, pressing his hands against it and I think my ribs might break under the pressure. I try to tell him this and remember sound doesn't exist anymore. I wish I could see him clearly. The only thing I can really see are the tears he's crying. Everything else is blurry. I want to see. I want to hear. I want to talk. You can't. You can't. You can't.

Why not!

There's liquid in my mouth. It's hot, burning my tongue. I feel it escape my mouth and trickle down my face. I want to know what it is when I suddenly realize that it's blood. I'm dying. Dear God, I'm dying and I haven't done anything. There's another face leaning over me as I really start to feel that statement hit me. The pressure is building in my chest. There's more hot liquid running down my face, this time from my eyes. Tears. My own now. Fin is going away, his face is fuzzier and I look at him, pleading with my eyes in a soundless world where I can't raise my arm. Pleading for him to stay. Don't leave me. Please, don't go. I need you. I need you.

He's gone. Everything is moving. They're saying things, but no sound comes out. No sound. Why is there no sound! I want there to be sound. More than ever. There are things moving. I can't see. Can't make out what they are. Everything hurts. The pressure keeps building. We're in the back of an ambulance. I don't see Fin. He should be here. Partner always rides. Partner always rides. Where is he? I want him here.

We're still moving, but it's white now and there's yelling, I'm sure it's yelling though I can't hear it. They all seem to understand each other though because things are happening and everyone keeps yelling. It won't stop and I can't hear it. I want it to stop and I want to hear it. No sight, no sound. I can't live like that. I can't. I can't. I can't.

There's a man. Who is he? What is he doing? Stop. No, don't do that.

Nothing.

I can hear something beeping. That means sound, doesn't it? Sound, sweet, sweet sound. So wonderful. So satisfying. I try my own mouth, see if I can hear that. No, doesn't work. Hey, wait a minute, what's that in my mouth? Oh shit, what is that! I don't know. No, not tears. God, you're nearly sixty, you can't be crying like this. Wait, that's Fin, isn't it? Yes, that's definitely him. Oh, Fin, I'm so happy to see you. I try to move my arms, and they work now. I reach as best I can for him. His head snaps up and he breaks into a small smile. "John, buddy. You're awake."

Yes, I'm awake and I can hear. Sight still needs a little working on. He knows it, too. He gets up and gets my glasses from the table next to my bed. Slips them carefully over my ears. There we go. Hello, clear Fin. Hello, old chap, old buddy, old pal. I missed you.

That smile is still there and I want to tell him I'm okay, for the most part anyway. He hands me a white board and a pen and I wonder why.

"To write on. They put a tube down your throat to make sure you're getting enough oxygen." He holds them out and I take the pen. He holds the board steady. I write 'I want to talk to you.'

"You can't talk out loud, but the board works, doesn't it?"

'I want to say words. I want to hear my voice.'

He smiles a crooked smile. "You ain't gonna get me to believe that conspiracy crap."

'I'm serious. Please. Get them to take it out of my mouth.'

The smile leaves his face. "You need it, John." It seems as if he's going to say something else, instead he just repeats, "You need it."

'Why are you always stubborn?'

"'Cause I'm your partner and don't talk to me about stubborn."

'Where is everyone? Where is Shevlin?' I realize my handwriting looks like crap and I wonder how he can read it at all.

"Who's Shevlin?"

'Is he dead?'

He looks at me. "Those painkillers must really have you out of it. Who the hell is Shevlin?"

I try a different approach. 'Who shot me?'

"Man, what are you talking about?"

What _am_ I talking about? I look down at my body, expecting to see bandages, but there's none there. I've got a pair of jeans on and a sweater. I try my voice again. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." He looks at me like I'm an alien. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I look around. My apartment. What the fuck is going on? I look back at Fin, but he's gone. Instead, Olivia's standing there, looking at me.

"Hey, you all right? I just stopped by to see if you needed anything."

"What time is it?"

"It's a little after ten. I'm sorry for stopping by so late, but I just got outta work and I thought I'd drop by and see if everything was all right."

"What's the date?"

"October ninth, why?"

She's got the date right. "I just... I..."

"You had another flashback. What was it this time?" She guides me to the couch, turns on the television and I tell her everything. I still can't make sense of any of it, but she understands it all perfectly. When I'm finished, I lean back and look at the ceiling. I can't make sense out of any of this. All I know is that if these symptoms continue for more than a month, I'm clinically able to be diagnosed as suffering from PTSD. Olivia is holding my hand and I give it a light squeeze. And I know that she'll be here. Just understanding. I wonder if there was ever a time when she didn't understand. I doubt it.


	6. Chapter 6

'Stop lying to me,' he wrote. 'People keep asking how I am, I haven't once heard them ash how you are. I've asked myself, but all you ever tell me is "fine." You're not fine and you and I both know it, whether you want to admit it or not. Just tell me. I want to know what's going on with my partner.'

I shook my head.

'You're my partner, for God's sake. Just tell me. Or is the sight of bandages and lack of voice making you think I'm weak all over?'

My eyes shoot to his. "Fin, I would never think that."

'Just tell me,' he wrote again.

I screwed my eyes shut, trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to tell him. No, tell him everything. He needs to know. He's my partner. I opened my eyes again and looked at him, trying to see the man he really was beneath the bandages and hospital gown and bed sheet. "I've been having flashbacks. Had the first one when IAB talked to me after you got shot and before I got to go to the hospital."

'You haven't been sleeping,' he remarked.

"No, I haven't. Not much."

'You talk to Huang?'

"Yeah, doesn't really help. Olivia helps more than he does."

'At least you're talking to someone.' He erased that once he was sure I had read it and scribbled, 'What exactly do the flashbacks include?'

This was definitely something I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to tell him how half the time I wound up crying. Imagine that, your old fart of a partner crying because he's afraid of the silence and the dark. Like some little kid. I shook my head. I couldn't tell him about the blood, about the rat, about hiding in the closet with all the lights disconnected. He wouldn't understand. I shook my head again. No. I wasn't going to tell him. He didn't need to think about me when he needed to be thinking about himself and getting better.

He hit my arm and I looked down at him as he thrust the board up. 'Tell me, god damn it,' it read.

"Fin, you don't need it in your head." He was writing frantically. "I don't think you're weak, okay? I just... I..."

He thrust the board up again. 'Tell me or I'll strangle your scrawny neck.' I tried to smile as I read on, 'John, I've had nightmares about it too. It's already in my head. A little more can't hurt. I want to know. What was the last one?'

The last one. The one that had found me crouched in a ball next to my bed, my hands over my ears, yelling for it to stop. The last one.

---------------------------------------

This one was different. This one wasn't in the alley. Not one bit of it. Instead, I was in the hospital. I was having that "other me" experience again and this time I could pin why it was familiar the first time. It was like the Christmas ghosts and Scrooge. Only thing was, no ghost and it wasn't Christmas. No, this was most certainly different though there was a little comfort in knowing why I could recognize the feeling. Good ole Charles Dickens.

I was standing in the doorway, watching the other me visit Fin. Fin was asleep, but the other me (who I'll just call John for sanity's sake) was perfectly content to be by his side, that much I knew just by looking at him. John was reading a newspaper, glancing up now and then to see if his partner had woken up. I watched, wondering what I was doing here and having no ghost to tell me why. Then, Fin's eyes shot open and he started to shake. John noticed the shaking part and hit the nurse call button frantically, having to wait only a few minutes for a nurse to come and then another and then a doctor. They couldn't stabilize him, they kept trying, but nothing worked. I couldn't lose him. I couldn't.

I walked over and put my hands on his chest, not knowing what I was doing in the slightest, just knowing that if I didn't do it, he would die. The shaking stopped and the doctors looked relieved as his vitals returned to normal. So did John, who had been ushered outside and now watched from the doorway, where I had been standing previously. All of a sudden, John collapsed and I felt this horrible pain grip me, throwing me to my knees. I grasped at my chest, grabbing my shirt, trying to stop the pain. The doctors started yelling again, the nurses scrambling. It sounded far away andI wondered what was happening. I managed to crawl to a space where I could see John. He was lying on the floor, white as the fresh bandages that the nurses put on Fin. My left arm was hurting like hell and I realized John was having a heart attack and I was somehow feeling the pain. I was watching myself die as the doctors desperately tried to revive my stopped heart with a defibrillator, with no success. They tried and tried and tried. John's heart, my heart, wouldn't start again. The pain faded away and I knew before the doctor said it that John was dead. I was dead. I lifted my hand to my chest. Nothing. I checked for my pulse. Nothing. I was dead.

I rose to my feet and started out of the room, walking down the hallway, numb in all possible ways. I looked behind me at one point and saw that I was leading bloody footprints. I looked down at my hands. Covered in blood. No. No. Where did it come from? There was no blood. Fin wasn't bleeding. I wasn't bleeding. Where was it from?

I didn't know and as I studied myself, I realized it was on my clothes as well. I ran into the nearest bathroom, trying to wash it off, scrubbing my hands raw. It wouldn't come off. Come off. Come off. Come off. Please. No more blood. I jabbed the button for the soap dispenser too many times to remember and rubbed it all of my hands, up my arms. It didn't do anything. I took a long sheet of paper towel and tried rubbing the soap in that way, hoping that maybe it needed something rougher than the palms of my hands. Finally, I resorted to using my fingernails to try and scratch it off. That only led my arms to become red and inflamed and then bleed. No! No more blood!

I stopped scratching and cradled my left arm to my chest, not caring that I was getting more blood on my clothes. Didn't really matter anyway. It was all over. I backed up until I hit the metal separation between a couple stalls and slid down it, curling into a ball when I reached the cold tile floor. My head bent down to my chest, my eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down.

Make it stop. Make the blood go away. Make it all go away. Please. Go away. Stop. Stop it! "Stop it! Stop it! Make it stop! Make it go away!" I looked up to see my room, still yelling to someone, anyone, "Go away! Just go away and make it stop! Please, please, please make it stop." The words weren't quite so loud now. They were hardly more than a whispered croak as I sobbed, "Please, make it stop. Make it stop."

"Please, God, please, make it all stop."


	7. Chapter 7

My gun. Where's my gun? I patted my belt. Nothing there. No handcuffs, no radio, nothing. Nothing in my pockets either. Not even my wallet. I was wearing what I had been wearing that day. Black pants, grey button down shirt, red tie. God, I'd never wear a red tie again. Maybe I'll throw them all out. Oh, and I had my suit jacket on. I was at the beginning of the alley, standing there, just standing. There were people walking behind me, down the sidewalk, minding their own business, at least until something happened. Then they'd become the world's nosiest people, but until then, they just walked down the street, ignoring any homeless people, and trying not to touch or even get too close to any other civilian. Just keep to yourself, don't make eye contact, and for God's sake, don't touch anybody!

I had no idea where my gun could be. Where the hell was it? Where was all my stuff? More importantly, where was Fin and Shevlin? What was I doing just standing here? Waiting? I wanted to scream in frustration. Someone tell me! But that would hardly earn a glance from passerby. It was then that I felt a tug at my waist, pulling me forward, into the alley. I dug my feet in, but it pulled harder, stronger. I had no choice but to give in, so I started running down the alley, not knowing what I would find when I got to the end.

It seemed to drag on forever. I passed the same things over and over again, as if someone had copied and pasted one section of the alley over and over. My legs started to ache and my lungs scream for more oxygen than I could give them. But I couldn't stop. I didn't even try to stop. I just knew I couldn't. Finally, things began to change, and then I saw the corner.

I rounded it, expecting any number of things, the foremost being Fin lying on the ground. But I didn't find that. I didn't find anything. And I slowed down, which I suddenly able to do, until I stopped. I turned around, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Mid-circle, I heard footsteps. Running footsteps. Two or three sets. And I didn't have a gun. Where's my gun?

I saw Shevlin first and went to tackle him, but my feet were stuck to the ground. No gun and I couldn't move.

I watched Fin come.

I watched Fin fall.

I listened to myself yell his name as he hit the ground and the blood started to come. Where was the other me?

I waited, as Shevlin walked over to Fin and stood over him as Fin gasped for air, getting mostly blood and then coughing and spitting it back out. I tried my hardest to go to him, but I couldn't.

No! No, this can't be happening. Shevlin was watching my partner die and I couldn't do anything about it. No! No! Please, no...

It was like watching a movie where the bad guy gets away with killing someone and gets to watch them struggle for life when death is pulling so strongly at them, dragging them into the darkness. I knew there would be no good guy rescue at the end. No revenge played out by another cop. No climactic scene in which the hero and the villain face off, one which the hero of course wins. Nothing. It would be me watching, waiting for him to die, Shevlin escaping and nothing done about any of it. No one would even know what had happened. Shevlin would cease to exist. Just be another nameless face in the crowd.

No! I can't let that happen. I can't, I can't, I can't. I felt a weight on my right and looked down at my waist. My gun was there. I didn't understand how or why, but I didn't need to. I drew my weapon, took aim, and let my finger pull the trigger. Nothing to it. Just aim and shoot. Your guy's dead.

My feet were still stuck to the ground. Shevlin was lying dead on top of Fin. I couldn't get to either of them.

So I yelled.

I yelled anything I could. I just let loose. This couldn't happen. He couldn't die. I wouldn't let it happen.

My throat started to hurt, my voice hoarse. I didn't stop. I kept yelling until I heard someone call back, "John!" My feet suddenly popped off the pavement as I tried one last time to get to Fin. I ran and nearly fell as I stopped and went to move Shevlin. Fin was unconscious. Don't die. Please don't die. "Don't die. Don't die. I need you. Don't die. You can't die." I groped blindly for his radio and called for a bus, shouting 10-13 into the radio so loud I must have scared the crap out of whoever heard me. I shouted it again and again, then dropped it as I pressed my hands to the wound, wondering if he felt the pressure I had felt.

"John, John." Fin was still unconscious, who was that? "John, c'mon, wake up?" What were they talking about? I was awake. I was trying to save my partner, God damn it! Go away unless you're going to help. Then... you better stay. I need help. Please, help me. I need to save my partner. If I don't... I don't know what will happen... to me... to anyone. I need to know what will happen. Can you tell me what will happen? Can you tell me it's all going to be okay? Can you tell me that? Please, tell me everything's going to be okay. Please, God, make everything better. Make it all okay again. I need it to be okay. I need all of it to be okay. Make it okay.

"Sshh... sshh..." There were fingers running through my hair. Get out! I grabbed them and squeezed. "John, let go." Another hand came and pried at my fingers but I didn't want to let go. "John, let go. That's hurts." I immediately let go at that. I couldn't hurt anybody. I couldn't make anyone hurt. There were paramedics around now. They were taking Fin. Someone was holding me, taking me away from him. My shirt had blood on it. It was ripped from something, I don't know what. I tried to get away but couldn't. "Sshh... calm down, John. It's okay."

It's okay? "It's okay?"

"Yes, it's okay. It's over now."

The room began to come into focus. Bedroom? Yes, that was it. I tried to focus on the person sitting on the edge of my bed, stroking my hair and talking to me. Olivia? Yes, it was her. "Fin... Fin's okay?"

"Yeah, John. Fin's in the hospital, remember? You visited him today. Remember that?"

I did. "I... I had lunch with him."

She smiled. "Yes, you did. I couldn't come today, I was in court."

"Yes, I missed you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there." I knew she was. She always was when she couldn't make it. Although, no matter how many times she had to say it, I knew the sincerity never faded. She was always truly sorry she couldn't be there. I closed my eyes as her hand continued to stroke my hair.

"I... I couldn't move. I didn't have my gun. I watched Fin... he was dying. Then... then I had my gun. Where did it come from? I shot Shevlin. I couldn't move. I yelled and yelled."

"I heard you. I came."

"You did? I couldn't see you."

"You were still asleep, I couldn't wake you up."

"Did you say my name? I heard someone call my name and then I could move. I went to Fin. He... unconscious. Radio... called bus... blood... on shirt. There was so much... it was ripped. Someone pulled me away. Was it you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I couldn't wake you so I just said your name and tried to calm you down."

"Oh." I closed my eyes again. I was so tired. "Stay with me?" I asked after a while.

"Sure. I'll stay."

I took her other hand in mine, holding it, feeling its warmth, letting it comfort me back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Last chapter. Think this one is a bit more powerful as John experiences something that has never happened in any previous flashbacks.

* * *

I was in the alley again. Fin was on the ground. I didn't know where Shevlin was. I'd followed them back here, but Shevlin was gone by the time I rounded the corner. Where was he? Is he going to shoot me, too?

What's that? A mirror? What's a mirror doing here? I walked over to it. There I was, scared and trembling and pale and more than a little disheveled. I felt like a kid that had been walking in the dark and heard something and ran for it, even if it had only been a mouse. Wait a minute... what the... that's not supposed to be happening. My eyes were fixed on the mirror. I was changing, morphing. It was strange to watch, and might have been a strange feeling as well, but I didn't feel anything happen. Even my clothes changed. I stared at the mirror. No way. I shook my head. No way. I looked down at myself. Striped t-shirt, jeans. I looked at my hands. Definitely smaller. No watch on my wrist. Not in the least bit wrinkled. I felt my face.

Holy shit.

I was twelve.

Again.

Holy shit.

I remembered Fin and looked to where he had been lying.

He wasn't there.

It was my dad.

I ran the few feet to his side and got down on both knees. "Dad?" Weak voice. "Dad!" There was panic creeping rapidly into my voice, making it stronger. My throat started to close up on me. No. No tears. No. Get yourself together.

But I couldn't. My dad was lying before me, bleeding. As far as I could tell, he had the same wound as Fin, but he was most certainly _not_ my partner. I didn't know what to do. God, tell me what to do. Please, help me. Apparently I had received a large part of my twelve-year-old brain as well.

There are bubbles in the blood. What does that mean? What am I supposed to do? The tears are starting to come, burning my eyes, choking me, squeezing my chest and throat. "Dad..." It's feeble. I don't know what to do. I can't help him. What am I supposed to do? How do I help him?

There is movement. Not from Dad... coming towards us. I look up. The man coming towards us looks a hell of a lot like my dad, but I can see through him. His ghost. But... he isn't dead yet, right? I glance down at Dad, who's mouth is moving to unheard words. More like a fish out of water. Oh, God.

The ghost kneels on the other side of Dad. I look at him. He looks back. Then, he reaches his hands out and I get scared. What's he doing? I try to push his hands away, but my hand merely goes through his, a cold, sick feeling coming over me as soon as I make contact with him. I'm helpless. All I can do is hope he's going to help Dad. Please, let him help Dad. Please. I can't lose him. I can't lose him. If I lose him... I can't lose him.

The ghost's hands make contact with Dad. He stops moving and I yell out, thinking he's dead. But then, the wound isn't there anymore. No more blood. The blood that had begun to escape his mouth is gone too. All the blood is gone. I forget about the ghost. "Dad?" It's tentative now.

He blinks. "John?"

I smile. I can't help it. He's going to be okay. I'm not going to lose him. "Dad," I say, out of plain joy more than any need to actually get his attention.

"John... Johnny... I want you to know... no matter what, I love you. No matter what." His face goes white, whiter than anything I ever remember seeing.

"Dad?" The nervousness is back in my voice. "Dad!" So is the panic. I practically throw myself on top of him, hugging him, crying. "Dad," I sob. I feel his hand come up and pat my head, his big hand easily covering the back of my head entirely. He strokes my hair a couple times and then he stops. That scares me. I lift my head, and his hand slides down onto my back. He looks frozen. I press my ear to his chest, pressing hard enough to make it hurt. Nothing. I can't hear anything. No heart. No thumping. Nothing. I can't even say his name anymore. My lip trembles and I bite down hard on it. No. I won't cry. Be a man, John. Come on. Don't cry.

I study his face now. The slightly rugged, long face that can only belong to one man. His brown eyes. His brown hair, although it is streaked with gray and quickly going to salt and pepper. The nose I had inherited. I study the face of my father as the tears back off, letting me see clearly and release the hold my teeth still had on my lower lip. I reach out my small hand and touch the stubble on his cheek.

No. No, he's not dead. If he's dead... he's not dead. He's Dad. He's invincible. Immortal. Alive. Damn it! He's not dead! He can't be. He can't be. What will Mom do? And Bernie? What will I do? No. No. Not dead. Never dead. Can't be dead. God, don't make him dead. We need him. Dad's... Dad's... he's Dad. There's no more explanation than that. He's Dad. We all need him. We can't live without him. Oh, please, God, please, if you exist... please. I want you to exist, God. Make it all better. Make it okay. I want him to be okay. More than okay, he has to be alive. Not for me. What about Mom? And Bernie? They need him as much - no, more - than I do. They need him. Damn it! Anwer me! He can't be dead, so make him breathe again! Now! Please... please... please... please, God...

There's something in my hand as I continue my unheard pleas with God. It feels cold, horribly cold. What is that? What is that? It's pressed against my ear now. Am I talking to God? Sure sounds like a woman. No way God is a woman. Maybe it's his secretary. Don't be stupid, John, God doesn't have a secretary, he doesn't even have a damned phone.

That's what it is. A phone.

But who am I talking to?

I'm holding something, burying my face in it. What's that? What is it? Somebody tell me something, please. I want to know something, anything, everything. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.

There is someone in the doorway, moving towards me. I bunch up in a ball. Go away. Who are you? Go away. I don't care who you are. Go away and leave me alone. No one can help me.

"John, I'm here."

No shit. I don't want you to be here. Go away.

They, she, sits on my bed. I draw tighter into my ball. You can't come near me, you can't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me!

"No, shh, John. Look at me." I refuse and I feel her hand on the side of my face. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don't touch me. "John, please. It's over now."

There's one thing that you're right about. It's over. Everything worthwhile is over. Now go away. I don't want you. I don't need you.

Her fingers are so soft and I find myself leaning into them. No! Stop that... she's not any help. No one's any help. No one. No one.

She doesn't talk anymore but I feel the bed shift and she moves. I freeze, immediately pulling away from her hand and pressing my face back into the pillow. Be a ball. Be a ball. Her arms are wrapping about me, trying to suffocate me. No, I don't want to die. Please, don't... Her fingers are going through my hair now. God, that feels good. I loosen up a bit and she continues to do it. My own fingers are holding the pillow in a death grip, my knuckles white. It's crushed between my chest and knees, held firmly in place (as if it were really going to move anywhere) by my arms wrapped around it.

Not attempting words again, she just strokes my hair and suddenly the image, the feel, of my father doing the same thing causes me to stiffen again. I scrunch my eyes shut. She stops. Her arms grow tighter around me but it's no longer suffocating. It's warm and inviting. My eyes still tightly shut, I let my head roll a bit to the side and it comes to rest against her shoulder. The embrace loosens and the hand previously stroking my hair is rubbing my back in circles. That feels good, too.

Slowly, I let my eyes open. Bedroom. Knew that. I lift my head carefully. It's her. Sorta knew that. She smiles. Loosens my grip on the pillow. Looks at me, suddenly worried. I look at my hands. Shaking. Didn't know that. Sadness wells in her eyes, not tears, no, just... sits there, looking at me and telling me that this hurts her. Seeing me like this... it hurts her. I look down at my hands again. Definitely shaking. I turned them over, examining both sides.

The wrinkles are back.


	9. Epilogue

A/N: So chapter 8 was the last real chapter, but now you get an epilogue as well.

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I still have a radio on nearly all the time. Mostly classical music stations. No words, just notes. Music flowing around me, keeping the silence at bay. Sometimes I keep it on even when I'm watching television, so I can turn off the TV, but the noise doesn't stop. I don't have to get up and turn on the radio. It's just there.

I still wake up with flashbacks turned nightmares, but I haven't had one in the daytime when someone's talking to me for a while now. The ones I do have are bad, leaving me a trembling mess when I finally wake up and usually falling back to sleep is out of the question. But they're not nearly as frequent as they were in the beginning.

Fin has been out of the hospital for nearly a year. Captain got him a desk job and Fin's not ecstatic about it, but he says it beats retirement so... as long as he's happy, I'm okay with any bull I have to listen to. He comes over more often now than when we worked together. I didn't say 'when we partners' because the truth is, we still are. The connection's still there, as are the arguments and bantering, but I love it anyway, perhaps more now than ever.

I still see Olivia and Captain and Elliot far more than really necessary as they usually insist on including me and Fin in any unit bonding activities. I suppose Captain feels the need to make it known that we are still his unit, no matter who sits at my desk or at Fin's desk. We had seven years together at those desks, that's not something you throw away when a couple of them leave. I don't mind though, the company's good for me, and Huang's not the only one that says that. For once, I agree with the man.

Olivia checks up on me more than she really has to, but I guess it puts her at rest, knowing that she can drop by any time and make sure I'm doing all right. I don't mind that either, as Olivia and I were always friends, Fin getting shot just made us closer in a different way. She became a support, a new beam to replace the one that broke that day. I call her, if I need to, when the flashbacks get too bad. She always comes, even if it's one o'clock in the morning and she just hit the sack after a couple days at the precinct. I never notice it when she first comes, still being half in flashback mode, that trembling mess that either can't stop crying or can't start crying. But I notice it later, when it's gone and I can think and act like a normal human being, normal as a human being can get that is. I feel bad then, but she always reassures me that it's all right, I needed her, it was no problem. I always believe her, too.

I don't know why a beam broke that day. Why I snapped. I've come up with theories, sure. Maybe I couldn't stand another partner getting shot with me coming away with hardly a scratch. Maybe I just had too many years under my belt, too much stress, too much wear and tear on that beam and it just couldn't hold the weight any more. Whatever it was, it happened, and I'm getting through it, slow and painstaking as the process may be. A visit with Huang is still a weekly chore, and some weeks are worse than others, usually those in which I have a flashback. He always wants the details, and sometimes giving them is hard and I don't think I can do it. My mind sometimes flips back into them as I begin explaining them and sometimes it changes on me and I'm no longer in his office, but somewhere else entirely. It hasn't happened every time, but when it does, it scares the hell out of us both.

But all in all, we're all doing better I think. Every single one of us. Fin's doing great, far as recovery and such goes. Captain's got a couple new guys under his watch, and even though everyone was doubtful at first, they're doing all right now and I'm sure he's got less problems with them than he had with me and Fin. Elliot and Casey... well, they're still doing their jobs, both in keeping in touch with Fin and me and the ones they get paid money for. Olivia's Olivia, as always, and there are very few areas, if any, in which she needs improvement or could possibly get better in and I love her for it. And me... well, I'm living and loving it, nearly every minute. Retirement's agreed with me this time and I've taken it to put some things behind me, put others in perspective and live the hell out of the rest of what I've got.

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A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. It was sure an experience writing this, let me tell you. I still have no idea how I came up with all these ideas, but nonetheless, I enjoyed writing it. Little self pimping here: check out Tear Stained Letters. More John angst for those of you who need your daily/weekly fix of it. 


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